


Call Me But Love

by kittleimp



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amber-Eyed Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caleb Widogast's Backstory, Happy Ending, Identity Issues, M/M, Mollymauk Tealeaf Has An Existential Crisis, Mollymauk Tealeaf's Backstory, Nonbinary Mollymauk Tealeaf, Pre-Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Resurrection, Soul Mending, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/kittleimp
Summary: The first two times he was brought back to life, there was a piece of him missing. He shouted over the aching void as if declaring that he was whole could make it so.This time he truly is whole. It's a lot more complicated than he thought it would be, and that's even before involving the wizard who raised him from the dead.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74





	1. I'll Be New Baptized

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at some theoretical point after Lucien has been defeated and resurrected as Molly. It can be considered canon compliant at least to c2e128, which is the most recent episode as of posting!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware: This does include flashback scenes that involve character death, but there is no major character death in this fic!
> 
> I begin by using neutral pronouns for Molly, but transition to masculine as his identity reforms. He is explicitly nonbinary in this, don't you worry.

Their first breath draws in no dirt this time, but they choke on it all the same. A cough wracks their body as their lungs relearn the taste of air. As soon as their eyes open, their vision blurs with tears that seek to soothe impossibly dry eyes, but the panicked voices and fuzzy movement around them suggest they are not alone.

A calm, firm voice, says something that causes the commotion to die down slightly. Stifled sobbing comes from multiple sources around them. They squeeze their eyes shut. That voice continues, like a gentle guiding hand directing the chaos around them. It gives them a few beats to attempt to process the situation. It takes at least that long to simply put their thoughts in order.

They start with the big things, the indisputable facts. For example, they have a body. As far as they can tell, it even seems to be their body, which seems like it should both be a given and never assumed.

Another fact is the aches. Physically, this body is exhausted, though they can feel no injury. Something must have happened to them - or it, perhaps, before they were here. Yet they know as soon as they think it that they've been here the whole time, whatever that means. There is another ache that overshadows the strange thought. In their chest, somewhere below their lungs, is an emptiness that reaches it's gnarled fingers out and sweeps through every nerve ending on their body. A shudder races down their spine.

That is all the time they have to think before a large, warm hand rests gently on their shoulder. Returning to reality is a jolt. This time their eyes don't water so badly when they open ever so slightly to find a large grey man leaning over their left side. He's got a dusting of grey fur, a broad, pink nose, and large, rounded ears. _Firbolg_ , their mind supplies, as well as _safe_ and _healer_. They don't protest the sourceless knowledge.

"Hi there," the firbolg says in a rumbling voice with a warm smile. "You're safe and among friends, so take your time. You've been through a lot."

They attempt to sit up immediately.

"Easy," the firbolg murmurs, but the large hand shifts to support their back rather than hold them down.

"Wh...at's going on?" they manage to ask. Their scratchy voice lilts ever so slightly in a way the firbolg's doesn't, but it feels natural on their tongue.

"That's... complicated," the firbolg admits. For a split second, his calm bedside manner cracks slightly to reveal exhaustion and anxiety on par with their own. "You were gone for a while there, but you're back now. You'll be better than ever once you get a bit of rest. Yasha?"

The last word doesn't seem to be meant for them, considering it draws a set of footsteps from somewhere to their right. A towering woman steps up, mismatched eyes shining with recent tears. She uses one muscular arm to support their back, then loops the other under their knees so she can sweep them up in her arms. They don't even have the energy to struggle.

"Just go to sleep, okay? You're safe now," she assures them in a soft voice that sounds, impossibly, like home. They fall asleep in her arms to the thought that her hair should be darker than it is.

* * *

When they open their eyes again, they find themself in a lavish and entirely unfamiliar bedroom. Above them is a mural painted across the ceiling of the canopy bed. It shows the white, sandy shore of a sparkling ocean with a bright blue sky above. The form of a woman stands out along the water's edge, seemingly made from stone, and it takes them a moment to realize that it must be a lighthouse of some sort.

The physical ache in their body has faded, leaving only a faint discomfort as they push themself up to sit in the bed. Someone tucked them into the impossibly soft satin sheets and, if they had to guess, dressed them in the loose, comfortable pants that they find themselves wearing. Probably bathed them too, considering that their bare chest isn't caked in blood and dirt. That's… something they should have an opinion on, probably, but they can't deny how nice it feels to be clean.

They rise from the bed on shaky legs. Across the room, the chamber pot serves as a good motivator to get steady quickly. Once that urgent matter is handled, they finally give the rest of the room some attention. Only some, because there is so much to see that it overwhelms them almost instantly. Large windows look out onto the same coastline featured in the mural, while every inch of each wall is covered in paintings that vary in complexity and skill. They can't begin to absorb all of the art here.

However, what steals their attention from the overwhelming splash of colors is a mirror standing in one corner. It's got golden ornamentation on the stand and, more importantly, gives them their first chance to look at themself. To take stock.

Their skin is a lavender shade that is unusual for most races, tieflings included. They have two horns, both curling like a ram's would, and a tail with a spaded tip. Long-healed scars are scattered across their exposed flesh, with a higher concentration on their arms, but none of those marks stir a feeling of concern. The two that freeze the blood in their veins are drastically different.

The first, which seems to be fully healed by now, is a long, jagged scar that carves through the center of their chest, right over their sternum. Sensations assault their mind the moment they lay eyes on it.

_He's barely conscious, head spinning from the cold and the pain, but he can see that huge tattooed fuck staring down at him with a smug smirk. Even if he had the energy to move, the glaive through his chest pins him to the muddy ground below._

_"An example it is."_

_No words, not with an enormous blade between his lungs, but there's more than enough blood pooling into his mouth. Even seeing it spatter across the face of his killer doesn't dull the terror of knowing what comes next. The big bastard has the nerve to grin._

_"Respect."_

_He dies with his eyes open, played off by the sound of his friends' screams._

When they come back to the present, they're shaking and struggling for air. The scar on their chest is rough and gnarled under their fingertips. Underneath that mark of death, the pain in their core throbs coldly.

The other scar is much cleaner by comparison. The jagged, branching shape seems to be something closer to a burn scar, and it wraps from the left side of their - his? - abdomen up to their… his left shoulder blade. It still tugs at his skin when he twists to see the rest of it, so it must still be fresh.

Mercifully, no memory accompanies this scar. He knows in his gut, in his core, that whatever struck him there killed him just as thoroughly as the glaive, but there is no nauseating terror this time. Simply a cold understanding.

Wrenching his mind away from the thought of death, he instead begins to pick apart the other pieces of that blood-soaked memory. There are still things he can learn.

His first discovery is that he uses he, though they doesn't feel incorrect either. Actually, as he gives it some consideration, he quickly comes to the decision that it doesn't really matter. He's a beautiful man, a handsome woman, and would likely be endlessly amused if people couldn't place him as either. A weak smirk finds its way into his lips.

The second piece of information is that he has - or had - friends. People he was willing to die for, who were distraught at his death, and perhaps are even responsible for bringing him back. He can't place names, though, not in this hazy state where he's barely on his feet, so he wanders from the mirror and settles gingerly back onto the bed. Their names will come when he's rested. So will everything else. He's sure of it.

Just before sleep takes him, he spares a thought to wonder why the reflection of his amber eyes looked so unfamiliar.

* * *

The third time he wakes, he opens his eyes and remembers.

* * *

It's ironic, in his opinion, that he now has too many names to choose from. The last two times he woke up empty, either nothing left of himself at all or a gap spanning years. He has his suspicions about why. Despite the hollow feeling in his chest, which now sits in the realm of discomfort more than pain, he is all too aware of who and what he is. Perhaps his friends can explain the rest.

Yasha was there, at least. He remembers that much. The time he spent as the Nonagon is hazy, like a dream slipping through his fingers, but he doesn't have to struggle to recall waking up as himself. If his favorite charm was there to rescue him, then she won't have gone far. Maybe she can tell him which name belongs to him.

His bare feet make no sound on the polished floor as he pushes the door open, but the movement gives him away immediately. Apparently the Nein as a whole have gotten much more perceptive since he was among their numbers. The large orchid-colored eyes belonging to the firbolg - Caduceus, he remembers the name now, as well as that almost infuriatingly calm attitude - level on him first, followed immediately by Beau's scathing glare. It doesn't soften at all when she sees him. Caleb's bright blue gaze meets his only a heartbeat later.

Caleb is sitting on the couch in his undershirt, in the middle of what seems to have been a check up by Caduceus. There's bruising scattered across his arms and the remnants of a black eye, plus a heavy exhaustion that is visible from across the room. Caduceus smiles at his arrival and returns to inspecting Caleb's remaining injuries. Caleb glances between all three of them like he's waiting for a fight to start. Beau narrows her eyes.

"So who are you today?" she asks sharply.

He opens his mouth to bite out a snappy reply, but the words don't appear. What is easy. He's a genderfluid tiefling, a pansexual bloodhunter, a thrice-dead adventurer who relies on bullshit, blades, and blood. Who, though? Well. That isn't an easy answer, but he does know it, in a way.

"Don't think it works like that," he rasps, disused voice warped by his uneven accent. It's softer than it was as Lucien, the lilt dulled by the accents that he picked up from mimicking other circus members so long ago.

"The fuck does that mean?" Beau snaps. She stands from where she was perched on the arm of the couch. He spares a moment to wonder if she realizes the way she shifts her stance to shield the other two, or if it's second nature now.

"I don't know. I guess it's just not that simple," he admits. The moment the words leave his lips he knows he's misstepped. His words won't read honestly, not right now, not when she's already so upset. Beau clenches her fists until her knuckles go white.

"Seems pretty simple to me," she says. Barely contained emotion causes a small waver in her voice that he politely ignores. "Either you're our friend Molly, or you're a bastard named Lucien."

He considers this for a moment. Lucien was… well, Lucien came before the Somnovum. A young tiefling named Lucien wove around the dark alleys of Shady Creek Run looking for anything that could help on the never ending quest to fill his belly. He joined an order of bloodhunters, learned to use his own life force to fight. Mollymauk came after, just the empty remnants of what once was Lucien given new form. Of course, Mollymauk became a person of his own in those two years.

"What if I'm both?" he wonders aloud.

"Both what, our friend and the asshole who tried to kill us?" Beau snaps. She crosses her arms loosely over her chest, but the tension across her shoulders betrays how prepared she is for a fight. He crosses his own arms over his bare, scarred chest. Even to him, it feels like an attempt to hide.

"If you're going to punch me out, just do it," he says and nearly winces at the exhaustion evident in his tone. "I'm unarmed, mostly naked, and I have no idea where I am. Don't know how that's threatening to you, but I really don't have the energy for this bullshit right now."

"She's not going to punch you."

This comes from Caleb, which catches Beau off guard enough that her eyes dart to the bruised wizard for a split second before returning to her important job of glaring menacingly. Caleb himself stands, albeit slowly and with a few winces of pain. Beau twitches as if she wants to hold him back, but doesn't stop him from stepping forward until he's in front of her.

"What would you like us to call you?" Caleb asks gently. His warm accent eases the tension in the many-named tiefling's shoulders.

"I don't know," he replies honestly, sounding more vulnerable than he cares to. "I remember all of you, and I also remember most of the rest, so… who does that make me?"

His voice cracks on the last sentence and he lashes his tail in frustration. The urge to hide his weakness clashes directly with the overwhelming urge to hide his face in Caleb's chest and sob. Without his boots the slight height difference would make it so easy. Something in Caleb's face softens further. The small half-smile that appears on Caleb's face warms the ball of ice that has been settled in his chest.

"Well, for what it is worth, I still think Mollymauk suits you better than Lucien."

He can't help the laugh that escapes him. It takes him by surprise and sounds unhinged, even to his own ears, but is that really unexpected? All the same, Caleb speaks the truth. Lucien was the young man who lost himself to his dreams. Mollymauk is the person he chose to become, in the brief time he had the freedom to decide. It fits into part of the empty hole in his chest, nestled in snuggly, and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.

"That'd be Molly to my friends, then" he says weakly.

"And we are friends, Molly," Caleb assures him and gestures to a large, empty armchair. "Come, sit down with us. The others will be back before long."

Sitting isn't the right word for what Caleb does. It's closer to collapsing. There's a small, yet visible tremble in his legs.

"I'm sorry," Molly says before his brain catches up. His memory of that final fight, like most of his time in Eiselcross, is hazy at best, but he can only assume he had some hand in the wizard's sorry state. Caleb shakes his head and motions to the empty chair again.

"I'm fine. Most of this is the result of my own magic," he explains as Molly steps carefully past Beau and drops into the seat.

Beau grumbles something in a language that isn't common and Molly's eyes dart to her, narrowed. That's right. She would have no reason to think he would know thieves' cant, would she? Back when they were familiar with each other, he didn't know that he grew up within the greatest den of thieves since the supposed fall of the Myriad. As lovely as the look of shock on her face would be, Molly chooses to keep that secret close to his chest for now. Plus, it's hardly a surprise that she'd find a way to blame him for magic he can't even perform.

"You said you remember the rest," Caduceus says, mercifully breaking the tense silence. It isn't asked as a question, but Molly understands the prompt for what it is.

"I remember my childhood as Lucien, the dreams, and becoming the Nonagon. Dying. Being… hollowed out, emptied. Waking up and being Mollymauk. Dying. Waking up again. Some of it's hazy, but… I remember it all, as far as I can tell."

The eye contact makes him squirm now, but he won't run from this conversation. He owes it to them. Caleb leans forward, meeting his gaze unexpectedly.

"And how much of that was you?"

There's no anger in his tone, not even judgement. Only curiosity.

"Most of it, but there was something else, another influence," Molly replies before his brain can catch up, and knows immediately that he's spoken true.

"The Somnovum?" Caduceus asks.

Molly nods. "I think so. At first I was excited to do as they asked, but over time… it spiraled out of control. That is, I did, I guess."

"So who was Molly?" Beau asks. He doesn't miss her intentional use of the past tense. It stings, but that's her goal, is it not?

"Molly is me," he explains, failing to keep a tinge of annoyance from his tone. "DeRogna shattered my soul, but part of me was able to remain. Molly and Lucien are just two parts of the same whole."

"That's not what you said before," she fires back.

"Well, I guess I was wrong," he snaps.

"Hold on," Caleb interjects before they can break into a full argument. "If it was possible to allow the part of you that was Mollymauk to exist in your body alone, could Lucien have done the same?"

Oh, Moonweaver bless this clever wizard.

"Yes. I couldn't remember anything about being Mollymauk when I was Lucien again, the same as I couldn't remember being Lucien as Mollymauk. That seems to be the easiest explanation," Molly agrees.

Beau actually pauses to consider what he's said. As she does, the set of double doors near the front of the room swing inward, revealing a chattering group of colorful figures. They all trail into silence when they notice him. Molly's chest tightens. He realizes that he's still dressed in nothing but those loose pants and longs for the familiar weight of his beloved red coat, now long gone.

Most of them are familiar faces. Fjord, with his beard recently trimmed, places a hand on Jester's shoulder protectively. The naivety is gone from her pink eyes, and she watches Molly with nervous hope written across her face. Yasha stands tall behind them with hair that now grows white at the roots and a glow about her that Molly has never seen before. Her expression is completely unreadable.

The only person he doesn't recognize from his time as Mollymauk is the brown skinned halfling woman with dark brown hair gathered loosely into two braids that drape over her shoulders. Glittering blue tattoos sparkle across her face and around her deep brown eyes. Veth, his mind supplies, but his eyes catch on the necklaces of colorful buttons strung around her neck. Nott, another part of him sighs, relieved to see the final member of the Nein, different though she may be.

"Molly?" Jester asks timidly. Fjord squeezes her shoulder.

"Mostly," Molly replies with equal trepidation. "As much as I ever was, at least."

"Let's take a seat. We have a lot to discuss," Fjord says in an even, careful, diplomatic tone that makes Molly want to grind his teeth.

The new arrivals slowly filter into the sitting room from what appears to be a hallway and close the doors behind them. Veth joins Caleb on the couch, and he accepts her weight on his bruised form with a stifled wince. Yasha's eyes never leave Molly, but she stands next to Beau. Caduceus takes up the rest of the couch on Veth's other side, so Jester settles into another arm chair and Fjord leans against the armrest much like Beau is, not quite sitting, but not entirely standing. Their eyes all fall on Molly.

"I don't have the slightest clue what to say," he admits sheepishly. "What do you want to know?"

"Why are your eyes yellow?" Jester asks immediately.

"They…" Oh, yes, that's right. He'd forgotten all about the amber gaze staring back from the mirror when he awoke before. "They were this color when I was a child. This is how they're supposed to be."

"So you remember being a kid now?" Jester asks almost sullenly, even her curiosity subdued by the weight of the conversation.

"Perhaps I should explain my current theory," Caleb offers before Molly can reply. The group's attention shifts to him, at least for the moment.

"Please do," Fjord says.

"The spell that I cast for this can be unpredictable when used for such a large task. Wording has to be extremely specific, and can sometimes be overly literal," Caleb explains. "When I cast it, one of the conditions I set was that Mollymauk needed to be both whole and free from the influence of the Somnovum."

"Is that why the eyes are gone?" Molly interrupts, gesturing to the empty spaces in his tattoo designs. Caleb nods.

"Most likely. That was their doing, after all, and I assume your eye color was as well. My intention with the conditions was to avoid either resurrecting the Nonagon or having a zombie situation. However, if you're correct that your soul was still broken, then that condition may have unified the shards."

"Wait, so are you saying the Somnovum put Lucien back together wrong the first time?" Fjord asks. He sounds skeptical.

"I think it's more that they left out a piece," Molly jumps in. "After all, the reason I didn't remember being Lucien was that I was missing pieces of my soul, right? When Cree brought me back, I couldn't remember being Mollymauk. It stands to reason that she never put that piece back in for some reason."

"Because if she had, you would've remembered us," Yasha speaks up softly. Molly's heart aches to see the pain he's caused her.

"And if I'd remembered, I would have told her and the rest of the Tombtakers to stuff it."

"Is that true?" Caduceus asks, tilting his head slightly. Damn him and his perception. Molly sighs.

"Well... I would have tried, but I doubt it would have done much good in the end. There was something else pulling me forward," he admits reluctantly. "It was like a mania that I couldn't shake, it'd been growing since I first found the book."

The book. His head jerks up to meet Caleb's eyes.

"Tell me it's gone."

"Destroyed," Caleb reassures him.

Molly sags in the chair as if his strings have been cut. It's over, then. The book is gone, the city is lost, and he's finally free. Tears threaten to spill over. He draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them.

"So… you're really Molly?" Veth asks, and her voice sounds the same now as it did when she had eyes even more yellow than his own. Something about that soothes his heart.

"Yeah, I'm Molly, I'm me," he assures her with a wavering smile. "Just… more memories now. For what it's worth, I'm sorry all of you got caught up in this shit show, and I'm sorry for everything I did to you when I couldn't remember."

"It isn't your fault, Mollymauk. Anyway, I told you a long time ago that I believe in second chances," Caleb reminds him. Most of the Nein nod along with him.

"There's going to be a lot to talk about for a while, but you're still recovering. We should leave the conversation here for today," Caduceus suggests. Molly can tell already that he's going to love this furry man, and also loathe him at times for how easily he sees through bullshit.

With a poorly hidden grunt of effort, Caleb pushes himself to his feet again. He motions for the rest to follow and starts off toward the room where Molly woke up. Reluctant to leave the conversation, they all begin to do so, Molly included.

"This is my momma's place, you know. You'll get to meet her soon, she's amazing," Jester explains from Molly's left. Bless her for trying, even if her cheer still feels a little hollow.

"I'm looking forward to it. After all, she must be if she made you," Molly says, matching her façade with a smile of his own.

To his surprise, Jester's grin finally reaches her eyes. She wraps her arms around his waist suddenly, pulling him into a hug while the others file into the room ahead of them. He winces as the branching scar's freshly healed skin pulls unpleasantly, but wraps his arms around her all the same.

"I missed you so much, Molly," she whispers.

"I'm here now, dear," he murmurs back, giving her a squeeze and a small kiss on top of her head to hide the way tears well up in his eyes.

She releases him, but takes his hand to lead him into the room. It's uncomfortably crowded with eight people all crammed inside.

"This was my room when I was little," she says, and he can see it now. Scribbled drawings when she was still little and learning, but as she grew so too did her skill. Every inch of the walls became her canvas.

"Then I need to thank you. Your mural was a wonderful thing to see when I woke up," he replies and gives her hand a squeeze.

It is only once Caleb rises from his knees that Molly realizes he'd been casting something. A shimmering door appears in the air before the wizard. Whatever this is, it must be the reason they've all piled into Jester's childhood bedroom. Caleb steps back and looks to the gathered group.

"Everyone, go on ahead, let's not overwhelm him. I'll show Molly to his room and we can all meet for dinner in a few hours," he says.

Jester hesitates, but releases her grip on his hand with a small kiss on his cheek to bid him farewell. She follows the others as they disappear through the shimmering doorway and Molly is left alone with Caleb, wide eyed and full of wonder. His memories of this place are hazy with the influence of the Somnovum, and he can't wait to see what it's like when there aren't dangerous strangers intruding. Caleb holds out his hand to guide Molly in and gives a small, warm smile.

"Welcome home, Mr. Mollymauk."


	2. Thou Art Thyself, Though Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [chai_teafling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chai_teafling) for being my lovely beta!

Caleb isn't above fantasizing, and he's imagined welcoming Mollymauk into the tower countless times at this point. None of them involved his legs going out from under him the moment he stepped through the door.

Molly catches him with a grunt and sways, but manages to keep them both upright. Caleb's cheeks burn. _This weakness is temporary_ , he tries to tell himself. Even if he had been strong enough to learn the spell properly, the scroll he found in Aeor was explicit in its warnings. All things considered, he's lucky to be on his feet at all. It doesn't quell the embarrassment he feels as he leans on his injured friend for support.

"Caleb?" Molly asks, concern coloring his tone.

"Alles gut," he murmurs in reply, then raises his head to where the rest of the Nein are watching with concern, some already floating upwards, and calls out. "I am fine, just shaky. I will meet you in the dining hall in a little while."

They continue upward reluctantly, and Beau and Fjord both linger longer than the rest, as if playing guard. Feeling protected is still a novel thing, but in this case it also hits on a sense of self-consciousness that he would prefer to keep hidden. Caleb attempts to take his own weight again, just to prove to himself that he can. Molly doesn't give him the chance. A slender arm wraps around his waist and anchors him into place.

"Where to?" Molly asks nonchalantly. His eyes are locked on the opening that Beau and Fjord have just now disappeared through. The effort to help him without acknowledging the uncomfortable weakness is… kind. Much kinder than Lucien ever was, and that's a comforting reassurance in itself.

"Ah, I think it may be best to show you your room first. Do you remember the way?" Caleb replies.

"Yes," Molly says, but a small frown twists his lips. All the same, he supports Caleb as they step forward until they can begin to float.

Molly does indeed lead them to the correct floor, and even to the correct door, though he pauses upon seeing it. Instead of the blank wooden door that awaited him the last two times he visited, a peacock feather hangs on the door to match the symbols on all of the others. Caleb looks to him and finds the frown replaced with a wide-eyed look of surprise.

"Did you really think I am the sort of person to create a guest room in my private home?" Caleb asks, amused by the tiefling's apparent confusion.

"I… wait, are you telling me that this room is really mine?" Molly asks with breathless bewilderment.

Caleb smiles ever so slightly. "Of course. It only housed others because you weren't here to fill it."

"But I was dead."

"Ja, but you were still a member of the Mighty Nein. This is our home. Of course you have a place here." The way Caleb says it suggests that it is simply common sense. As Molly stares at the door with a slack jaw, Caleb breaks from his gentle hold to reach for the doorknob. His hand pauses on the brass.

"I hope you will have patience with me, Molly. We did not know each other very long, so I may have misjudged your tastes," Caleb explains, looking back at his stunned friend. "The rooms are currently as I originally designed them."

"Originally?" Molly echoes softly, and Caleb nods again in response.

"I did not have much to go on, but I hope you will be comfortable enough for the night. Next time I can make any adjustments you would like," Caleb explains.

Then, without another word, he pushes the door open and gestures Molly inside.

The room is completely different from last time. To be blunt, it is garishly ornate. There is a general sense of jewel tones to the room, but they are scattered so completely that it's hard to make sense of the colors. Silky scarves drape along the ceiling. Even the table of books has a draping velvet cloth in a rainbow of colors. A fire crackles in the fireplace, bringing warmth to the room, though its light is hardly needed among the candles adorning every available surface, glowing with magical fire that won't catch on the countless pillows, blankets, and other decorative luxuries.

Instead of the walls of windows displaying their travels, the stained glass is confined to the window overhead. It bears a depiction of Mollymauk in his old coat, posed as if he is divine himself. Behind his head rests a silver circle that could be a full moon, a halo, or perhaps both. Caleb's small smile falters when he realizes that eyes on the window are still red.

He turns back to look at Mollymauk and finds an expression he can't parse out. There is wonderment there, and something strong enough to have tears welling at the edges of Molly's amber eyes, but Molly was rarely so guarded. Caleb takes the moment to remind himself that this isn't so simple. This man is a stranger to him in many ways.

"Come, this way," Caleb prompts, leading Molly into the next room.

This has soft, loosely packed dirt in place of a floor. The walls are striped red and white, and feel as similar to the carnival's tents as Caleb could get through fading memory alone. A practice dummy stands in the corner, but the area is otherwise open to be used as a practice area.

"This would be perfect for swordwork," Molly murmurs, distracted enough that Caleb can believe he didn't notice himself speaking.

"One last room."

The final room is, of course, the bedroom. Everything is done in a patchwork of color. A bath steams gently from an oversized bathtub and the bed is crowded with extra pillows. Otherwise, it matches the first room entirely, looking altogether like it was decorated by someone with far more money than taste.

When Caleb looks back to see Molly take it all in, his chest tightens at the unmistakable pinch of sadness between Molly's brows.

"What is wrong, Mollymauk?" he asks. "If it is not to your taste, you are welcome to take my room for the night."

"Oh, no, that's not it at all!" Molly protests too quickly, then catches himself with a heartbeat of silence and a heavy sigh. "I suppose I'm just realizing how... different I am."

"How do you mean?" Caleb asks and awaits his answer patiently. It takes Molly nearly a full minute to find words.

"This would have been perfect for your Mollymauk."

The detachment in the words sends an involuntary shiver down Caleb's spine.

"Molly…"

"That's not really me now, though, is it?" Molly asks, eyes still scanning the room. The tears threaten to spill over his eyes, but he looks just as exhausted as he does sad. Caleb chooses his reply carefully.

"I think that is a question you must answer for yourself."

"I feel guilty," Molly admits and sinks down to sit on the bed. "You're all calling me that because I told you to, but am I really? Molly was made of two years of memories and mostly decent intentions, and I'm… well."

The bitter twist to his tone is all too familiar. It calls to mind the biting cold of the nights following his escape from Vergesson. The people passing by had coin in their pockets. He could beg for it, or even try to steal it, and then pay for a night in a tavern. For as long as his body could take the icy, sleepless nights, he did nothing of the sort. _You are a monster, you don't deserve anything but suffering,_ he had reminded himself as the chill sank into his bones.

Yes, Caleb knows self loathing more intimately than most of his friends, of that much he's certain. Even now, after everything he's been through and all that he's grown, he hasn't managed to shake that weight entirely. So yes, when Mollymauk's voice sours, he knows exactly the ache that sits behind those once-shattered ribs. He sinks down to rest next to his friend on the multicolored covers.

"You are Mollymauk," Caleb declares. "Just because you have memories now does not change that."

"It does, though. I can't just ignore the parts of me I don't like. It doesn't work that way," Molly insists, and now irritation colors his voice. "Mollymauk was a nice fantasy, a chance to escape from the mess I made for a while, but that doesn't change what I've done. Beau hates me and-"

"She doesn't hate you," Caleb interrupts.

"Well, she'd be right to!" Molly snaps. "I got you roped into this, got the two of you marked, even tried to kill all of you, why the fuck wouldn't you hate me?"

The silence hangs in the air between them for a handful of seconds that feel like years. When Molly speaks again, it is barely more than a shaking whisper.

"Why don't you hate me?"

Caleb considers his answer for a few seconds more, then drops his eyes to his hands.

"If you will allow, I would like to tell you a story."

Molly's silence is answer enough. With a shaking breath, Caleb pushes on.

"When I was young, I trained under one of the most powerful mages in the Empire, along with two others from my village. We were to become the Empire's elite warmages. There was nothing we were not willing to do for the glory of our Empire. By the time I was sixteen, we were regularly tasked with interrogating and executing traitors."

Though Caleb catches the audible hitch of breath, Molly doesn't interrupt. It's a kindness. To pause now, to have to look up and face Molly's judgement mid-confession… he can't imagine how he'd continue.

"We all — the three of us, that is — returned home to visit just before we were to graduate. Each of us overheard, in the dead of night, our worst nightmares come true. Our own parents were conspiring against the Empire," Caleb explains. The tremor in his voice is unmistakable now, but he chokes it down. "We had a duty. I stood by while my friends murdered their families. Then, in the night, I pushed a cart against the door of the home I grew up in and burnt my parents alive."

Caleb looks up as soon as the words are out. Mollymauk's jaw does not drop. He does not gasp in shock, reel back in horror, or otherwise react in any visible way beyond a few startled blinks and a slight furrowing of brows. Silence hangs in the air for too many long seconds. Finally, Molly breaks it with quiet words.

"So that's why you froze up."

"Was?" Caleb asks reflexively. The words don't make sense for an embarrassingly long amount of time. He simply wasn't expecting… well, he hadn't been expecting much of anything. When he manages to meet Molly's eyes - and oh, the effort that takes is nearly painful - he finds a mixture of emotions he can hardly understand. Sorrow, realization, and above it all, confusion.

"Caleb… that explains a lot, and thank you for trusting me with that, but I don't see what it has to do with this situation," Molly admits. Caleb stifles a sigh and considers his words. Having these heavy conversations in common is much more challenging than Zemnian would be, but there's nothing he can do for that now.

"The truth is that our parents were not traitors. We were lied to, and did not see through it, so we willingly murdered our families. Who knows how many of the others were innocent?"

"But you didn't know!" Molly protests. "You thought you were doing something good, and have you done anything like that since you learned?"

Caleb falls silent. His eyes trace over Molly's face, his dimples, his frown, his winding tattoos, and finally to his amber eyes. The color still catches him off guard.

"Why did you want to find the Somnovum?" he asks evenly. "I read the book too, I know what it promised. What made you seek that power?"

Molly opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again. Looks up at the ceiling, now unable to meet Caleb's eyes where he sits just inches away, and from this close Caleb can even tell where his eyes are directed.

"People in power never gave a shit about people like me. I figured that if I had that kind of power, I could do better than they ever did," Molly admits. "Obviously I was wrong, of course I was, the fuck does some orphan from Shadycreek Run know about running an empire?"

"But you wanted to help someone," Caleb interrupts.

"That doesn't matter," Molly counters sharply. "I killed so many more people than I ever helped, and it's hardly like my intentions were all pure and noble. Throwing a few coins to a beggar doesn't mean shit if you slaughtered a whole family the night before."

"You are right," Caleb admits. "You have done those things, and you cannot undo them."

"So now what?" Molly snaps, and his eyes meet Caleb's ever so briefly before falling away. His voice softens and quiets. "What do I do now? I can't just be Mollymauk again and pretend that I did nothing wrong."

Caleb rests a hesitant hand on Molly's shoulder, feels the tiefling jolt in surprise at the contact, and speaks softly, gently.

"You dedicate yourself to a new cause. Few people have the chance and willpower to change so completely, but you can do it."

"And what cause would that be?" Molly asks as exhaustion and defeat creeps back into his voice. The sentiment is familiar. Caleb had once found himself wondering what he could do that would ease his guilty burden even slightly. His lips turn up ever so slightly at one corner.

"To leave every place better than you found it."

Caleb's echo of Molly's own words from nearly a year ago bring silence to the room once more. Even without the tears catching in Molly's dark lashes, Caleb would have been able to feel the impact of his words in the air alone. As it is, his friend simply nods and ducks his head as his shoulders begin to shake.

Touch can be hard. In many cases, it causes Caleb's skin to crawl or itch, and leaves him desperate for an escape. However, in this moment, he finds no struggle in drawing Mollymauk closer as they perch on the edge of the mattress. For seven minutes, Molly sobs in his arms and clings to his shirt. Caleb says nothing. He simply cards his fingers through Molly's long curls.

Finally, when the tiefling's breathing has calmed from gasping hiccups into something with a semblance of rhythm, Caleb leans back and cups Molly's damp face in his hands. He meets those unfamiliar golden eyes with his own.

"My name was Bren Aldric Ermendrud. The others know this. When I told them, they asked me what name I would prefer." A small smile comes, far more effortlessly than he expected. "I realized then that Bren no longer fit me. It represented something old. Bren was shaped by the world before I knew enough to have a voice. Caleb Widogast is who I chose to be, and I continue to choose every day."

He moves slowly. This is no heated battle, so there is no need for the sharp bite of a slap, but he presses his lips to Molly's forehead for a long, lingering second. A small, choked noise comes from the man in front of him.

"Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf and you are a member of the Mighty Nein," he whispers against that lavender skin. "You are loved. You were missed. Not once were you ever forgotten."

This time, Caleb doesn't count how long they sit together, Molly collapses against him with tears running down his face. The tiefling's sobs aren't so all-consuming now, but they still shake his shoulders and leave him short of breath. Caleb doesn't release the embrace until Molly begins to draw back to wipe his eyes.

"If it's alright with you, I'm going to go meet our friends for dinner and try to soothe some of the tension," Caleb says, and Molly nods.

"Just give me a minute to pull myself together, I'll join you," he says thickly.

Caleb shakes his head. "You have handled so much today, my friend, and you are still healing. A lightning strike strong enough to kill you needs rest, even after the magic that healed you. I will bring some dinner up for you."

Molly looks ready to protest, but Caleb rests a hand on his arm to silence him.

"There is no need to rush, Mollymauk. We will all be here in the morning."

Reluctantly, Molly nods. When Caleb stands, he doesn't follow, instead pushing himself to sit in the center of the bed and pulling blankets around himself.

"Caleb?" he calls as the wizard reaches the door. Caleb pauses, leaning on the wall for support, and turns back to his friend. The tiefling almost looks like a child in his protective shell of cloth. Molly's voice wavers as he speaks.

"Thank you."

Caleb smiles. "Of course, Molly."

* * *

By the time he reaches the dining hall, Caleb's legs are shaking badly enough that he fears they'll give out. He'd been feeling a bit stronger and had hoped the effects of the magic he used were nearing their end - foolishly, it seems. Jester rushes to him the moment he enters the room and helps him to a seat, but her usual commentary is missing. In its place is a heavy weight in the air.

"Is it really Molly?" Nott asks. It doesn't cut the tension, but at least she's willing to address it.

"Yes, though he was right that it is more complicated," Caleb admits as Jester settles him onto one of the table's wooden benches. "All parts of him were brought together as one. He has chosen who he wants to be, but that does not erase his history."

"Damn right it doesn't," Beau snaps. "He tried to kill us. I mean, fuck, he tried to end the world. Are we supposed to be fine with that? To trust that he's just changed his mind?"

"I also did those things," Yasha points out.

"That's different, you were being controlled," Beau reminds her, voice softening so slightly Caleb nearly misses it.

"Molly was not in control of Lucien, and Lucien was under the influence of the Somnovem," Jester adds, and her hopeful tone warms Caleb's heart. "Now that he can think for himself, he decided to be Molly. That means something, right?"

Beau says nothing, but Caleb can see the crack in her armor now and goes in for the final blow. Perhaps it is cruel. Hopefully it will be worth it.

"Beauregard, I am curious. Why can you forgive the actions of Yasha and myself so easily, but not Mollymauk?"

One could hear a pin drop, were someone careless enough to drop it.

"Ignoring the complexity of the situation will not stop you from hurting," Caleb points out after a few seconds. "Things are seldom black and white. You should not treat them as if they are."

"Fuck you, Caleb," Beau snaps with a shaking voice. In the blink of an eye, she rises from the bench and storms out of the dining hall, slamming the door behind her. Yasha is hot on her heels. Letting Beau out of sight in a mood like this is as good as losing her for the night.

Caleb sighs and slumps against the table.

"That could have gone better," he mumbles into the wood.

"It's a lot to take in, Caleb. Give her time," Fjord reminds him. "She was also marked by those eyes, after all. It's hard to imagine her not having a hard time with this."

"Ja, you are right," Caleb admits.

"He usually is," Jester pipes up.

"You are also right, Jester," Caleb agrees. "I think I'll gather some food and bring it up to Mollymauk. I thought perhaps he could use a bit of a break from the chaos."

"Actually, I was wondering if I could have a word," Caduceus interjects, and Caleb glances up to his furred friend in surprise, finding himself met with a smile. "Nothing bad, I promise."

"I'll take him some food," Veth offers. "Plus, you still need to rest." Before Caleb can reply, she is already scurrying away to gather a plate. He sags slightly as he realizes that they've left him no avenue to avoid whatever discussion Caduceus hopes to have.

"Ja, okay," Caleb agrees reluctantly.

"Good," Caduceus replies with that same warm, too-knowing smile. "Let's move to the library. I'll brew some tea."

* * *

Caduceus prepares the tea in silence. The water boils quickly with the aid of magic. A handful of leaves and flowers adds a soothing scent to the air, but the tightness in Caleb's chest doesn't loosen. Neither of them speaks for nearly ten minutes. Each one ticks by in Caleb's head until he can't stand the soft sounds of the tea set clattering.

"What did you want to discuss?" Caleb finally asks.

"I'm sure you have something to say," Caduceus replies placidly and pours the steaming tea into two cups. He adds a spoonful of honey to each, then hands one over to Caleb and sits in the plush chair opposite him. "Don't think too hard, just tell me what's on your mind."

Caleb delays his response with a sip of the hot tea. A sigh escapes him before he realizes it. The honey sweetens the cup, while the faint taste of licorice balances the floral taste perfectly. When he lowers the cup again he manages to find his words.

"Mollymauk looks so terrified," he says softly, finding his voice nearly catching in his throat. Caduceus hums and sips his own tea.

"It's a fear you can relate to, right?"

"Ja, it reminds me of the fear I felt after my mind was returned to me," he admits. "I was alone with that fear and sorrow, and it festered into self loathing. Molly… I do not want the same to happen to him."

"Sounds like Molly is lucky to have you," Caduceus points out.

Caleb sighs. "He deserves better than me, but I only have myself to offer, so I will do everything that I can for him."

Caduceus hums and sips his tea thoughtfully. The quiet lasts so long that Caleb is nearing the end of his cup and searching for an excuse to retreat to his room. Of course, he should have known better. It is only once Caduceus finishes the last of his tea that he looks back to Caleb and speaks with a voice so gentle it sets Caleb's nerves on edge.

"I'll leave you with this question: why is it that you forgive him, and yet continue to deny yourself the same?"

No words come to Caleb's open mouth. He closes it and stares at his hands where he grips the tea cup with white knuckles. Caduceus rises. Perhaps he says goodnight. Caleb can't be sure. It is only those words, again and again, on a loop in his mind.

The truth is that there isn't a good answer. They both did horrible things to gain power, and were both misled while doing so. Every angle he searches for to find a major difference is mirrored perfectly. He has no idea how long he sits there, which is remarkable in itself, but when Veth's soft steps draw him out of his thoughts the tea has gone cold.

"You were right," she declares and jumps up in the empty seat Caduceus left behind. "He remembers everything this time, but he's still Molly."

"I take it you spoke with him, then?" Caleb asks, thankful for the distraction from his thoughts. Veth hums in confirmation.

"To be honest, I'm glad he remembers," she admits. "Before he was just running from his past. Now that he's faced it, maybe he'll be able to enjoy the future."

"Perhaps," Caleb says. Veth is a constant source of wonder. An inspiration. Even after everything, she is so full of love and optimism.

"Plus, I forgot just how pretty he is! And with better muscles and golden eyes? He's even more of a looker now than he was when we all met."

"Yes," Caleb agrees absently, then blinks in surprise when the words sink in.

Veth's grin is as sharp as her dagger.

"I always knew you liked that colorful asshole!" she crows proudly. Even as heat rises to his cheeks, Caleb sighs and shakes his head.

"Veth, please, do not start this. My feelings are inconsequential in this situation. Mollymauk just returned, and he is in no state to begin a relationship," Caleb admonishes. The halfling appears unbowed. Her cheeky grin is far too knowing.

"Whatever you say, Caleb," she croons, then gives him a spectacularly over dramatic wink.

"I think I'll take dinner in my room tonight," Caleb mumbles and rises from the chair. His escape isn't fast enough. Veth still grins devilishly as she notices the flush crawling over Caleb's cheeks. This will be dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot, and yet here we are. I'm falling in love with this AU. The goal is to wrap up in the third chapter! We'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on twitter or tumblr as kittleimp, I'm always happy to chat!


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